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— The Brave and the Broken

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Only the poor had courage.

Or that was how she was raised to believe. Because they were hopeless. Because it was a brave person’s act to wake up at dawn and go on the streets, to bring kids into a world with no prospects and then leave them with someone without a second thought. Her mother should’ve been the bravest person on earth to leave her only child with the monster she was raised with.

The person Mila had thought was her father until she turned fifteen— her uncle, her tormenter. Remembering the past, her days suffering with him should’ve been hurtful, but she felt nothing.
Absofuckinglutely nothing.

And that—was her only gift from god.

Feeling nothing had been a blessing, a present given to her at a time she couldn’t recall anymore. Maybe it was the day her mother left her or the day she gained the burn scar on her neck, when she was only five years old. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that nothing hurt her anymore. Nothing haunted her, nothing bothered her.

Mila knew she was unable to feel anything. To love, to laugh like she meant it—but as long as she could act like she did, there would be no problems. She would stay afloat, untouched, safe away from the darkness of people. Because the true measure of a woman wasn’t what she revealed to the world, but what she hid from it.

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